Lust for Danger

by K.S. Brooks

Ever wonder what a female James Bond would be like? Well you have found her in Kathrin Night.

Follow Kathrin in her day to day life where nothing ever is normal from picking up some milk in a convenience store where she breaks up a robbery and murder attempt to her job as a "spy."

Mystery, Action-Adventure, Espionage

ISBN-1-59431-129-3



CHAPTER ONE

Welcome Home Wednesday, Oct. 5th

Kathrin could feel her silk nightgown flowing with her, revealing the contour of her muscular legs as she made her way to the kitchen. The white Italian tile flooring felt cool against her feet. She removed the screaming kettle from its burner.

“Milk—” she mumbled, opening the refrigerator door. A half-gallon carton sat alone on the top shelf. She pulled it out, and after unfolding its spout, brought it up to her nose. Her eyes bulged open as she reflexively jerked her head back. “Holy—” Kathrin cocked her head to read the expiration date on the side.

“September—over a month old.” She winced, put it back on the wire shelf, then closed the door.

She walked past a glass wall unit which showcased various plaques and trophies, ranging from karate to sharp shooting. Her diploma from the Naval Academy at Annapolis was the largest of the collection.

She grabbed her keys, then slipped a black trench coat on over her aqua nightgown as she left the apartment.

* * *

The elevator doors slid open upon reaching the lobby.

“Good morning Miss Night,” the doorman greeted.

“Morning Adam,” she grumbled.

She marched by him, into the parking garage. When Kathrin rounded the corner a crooked smile spread across her face. A satisfied glint came into her eyes upon reading her New York license plate: "DEADLY." It was the only part of her car that was not black other than the silver sport rims. She walked by the convertible Saab Turbo, then exited through the heavy fire door into the bright of day.

Kathrin glided into the convenience store. “Good morning, Hassan,” she waved without looking at him. Once the milk was in hand, she sighed, then made her way back to the register.

“How are you this morning, Miss Night?”

“I will be much better soon,” she smiled wearily. The glass store door opened, and two men entered, one of their coats flourishing in the breeze. Kathrin’s eyes did not shift, but they became serious. She continued paying the clerk as the men headed towards the rear of the store.

“Call the police,” Kathrin whispered.

Hassan’s face became twisted with a mixture of fear, disbelief and dilemma. “I cannot.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who did your father tell you to call in case of emergency?”

“You.”

“And I’m telling you to call the police. Do it NOW!” Her tone was quiet, yet strong.

“What do I say?” he strained after her as she followed in the direction of the two men. She secretly studied them as they lingered in the refrigerated section, observing that the shorter man kept looking around nervously. His partner was of good stature, wearing a long, leather duster which assisted in his ominous presentation. A few days worth of dusty brown beard growth covered his jaw area. Kathrin noted his cold, steel blue eyes, and his unwashed, shoulder-length hair, but was only disturbed by the .357 Magnum he had tucked into his pants. As soon as he reached for it, Kathrin immediately became flush with the canned goods, completely out of his sight.

Shit!

She peeked again, for an instant, just long enough to see his companion also pull out a gun.

I hope the cops get here fast.

She looked towards the front of the store. Hassan was fidgeting behind his counter. In finality, she reached into her pocket and retrieved her Sig Sauer P230 nine millimeter handgun. She then shrugged off her coat so she could crouch silently over closer to the front of the store. The commotion began before she could get into position, but she could see the reflection in the Coca Cola case door.

The shorter man locked the store entrance, then stood beside his partner.

“All right, Hajji, open the drawer!”

“Oh, this is very bad,” Hassan trembled, reaching for the register. He pressed a button, which beeped, and the drawer opened with a clang.

Kathrin breathed in deeply, and quietly exhaled. She quickly surveyed her surroundings: cans, bottles, cases of soda before her, bags of snacks behind her, cold vinyl below her, magazines beside her. After solemnly covering her mouth, she crept towards the back of the store, all the while listening to the confrontation.

“Are you shittin’ me?! This is it?! What the fuck?!”

“I am very sorry—we had a very slow night—uh—”

“Shut up!”

The cocking of a gun echoed in the store. “Listen, you better find me something better than that or I’ll have to torture your smelly little foreign ass before I kill you.”

“Come on, man!” his cohort panicked. “You told me in and out this time—you told me you weren’t gonna off anybody this time.”

In an instant, Kathrin grabbed a can of chicken soup, then whipped it at a shelf of glass bottles. The smashing sounds that ensued caused the two men to wheel to their left.

“Shit, Flemmi, what was that?”

“Go check it out.” Flemmi looked back at Hassan coldly. “Is there anyone else in here?” he asked, once again pointing the gun at the dark-skinned clerk.

“I do not know—I do not think there is—”

“We’ll see. Meanwhile, you put that piddly amount of money in a brown bag—and scratch tickets too.” He momentarily redirected his attention to the distorted mirror behind the counter. “Stu, hurry your ass up!”

Kathrin continued to watch the reflection of the action at the front counter, then became engrossed with Stu’s shadow as it drew nearer to her.

I hope this works.

She remained perfectly still, crouched behind a life-size cut-out of a Coors Light-toting Elvira. Stu stopped for a moment, and gazed down at the trail of assorted pornographic magazines leading up to the cardboard enchantress. Lured closer by the publications, then finally Elvira’s enticing cleavage, he walked straight up to the display. Stu touched the muzzle of his gun to the one-dimensional breasts, outlining them. Kathrin’s eyes widened in disbelief; but abruptly her disgusted expression transformed into a sinister smile.

Suddenly, Elvira came to life. Kathrin’s arms reached out from either side, latching onto Stu’s wrists and pulling him into the cardboard. He emitted a slight grunt, but before any words could form, Kathrin lashed forward and hit him square on both sides of his head with his own hands.

Stu slowly, and quietly, slid to the floor. Once she had kicked his gun beneath a display, Kathrin unlatched his belt and slid it from around his waist. Nimbly she tied both his hands behind his back.

“Stu!” Flemmi yelled.

Kathrin blinked.

“Stu! What the fuck are you doing!? Answer me you chicken shit!”

Kathrin peered carefully up the aisle. Flemmi’s face was red with aggravation. He flailed his gun in front of him as he continued yelling. “Stu, what the fuck are you doing!?” His tone was becoming desperate.

After a deep breath, Kathrin yanked Stu to his feet and violently shook him. He moaned. “Come on,” she whispered, “let’s see how much your friend likes you.”

“—uhhhh,” Stu moaned. “What—what happened?”

“Shut up,” she responded, lodging the muzzle of her gun against his temple.

Kathrin stepped out from behind the protection of the shelves, with Stu as a shield. “Drop your weapon, I have your friend!”

Hassan’s eyes sprang wide and he instantaneously ducked below the counter.

Immediately, with both hands, Flemmi pointed his gun directly at her. “Who the fuck are you!?”

A slight smile came to Kathrin’s face when she saw the flashing blue lights through the front window. She decided not to hold back a deep, throaty laugh which echoed through the store like sadistic music.

“THIS IS THE NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT!” came the unexpected answer from behind him. “COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

“SHIT!” he screamed. “No fuckin’ way—no fuckin’ way!”

“Listen, you can probably still get out of here through the back,” Kathrin baited. “Of course, you need to get past me. I won’t let you by until you throw down your cannon.”

He glared at her with such strong contempt that the lines in his face became dark with shadow.

The ringing of the phone abruptly broke the silence.

“That would be the hostage negotiator,” Kathrin smugly informed him.

The phone continued to ring.

“Fuck you, bitch. Fuck you! And fuck you, Stu! You really fucked this up! I’m not goin’ back to the joint!” The gun teetered in front of him, seemingly shaking more every time the phone rang. His eyes became almost glassy; a shiver ran up the back of Kathrin’s neck.

“Flemmi, you heard her, man, we can still get out of here!” Stu panicked. “Come on, man, let’s get out of here!”

Flemmi shook his head. “You fucked up, man—”

“NO!” Stu yelled as the .357 fired.

Kathrin shoved Stu forward, and dove, with him beneath her, towards the floor. As they both fell, Kathrin swung her right arm up and squeezed the trigger of her P230. Stu landed hard, and she bounced atop him with a grunt. Nonetheless, the clang of Flemmi’s gun hitting the floor was still audible.

Stu panicked upon seeing his own blood on the floor in front of him. “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD—”

“Shut up, it’s probably just your lip,” Kathrin said, obviously intent on her main concern: Flemmi. Pushing herself up, she then stepped on Stu’s back to make her way over to him. Gun still ready, she carefully approached. He was perched up, like a seated scarecrow, against the bottom of the front counter, and he stared blankly at her.

Flemmi’s gun rested on the floor, beneath his limp hand. “Not bad,” Kathrin sighed, noting the precision cavity between Flemmi’s eyes. Quickly she checked the pulse on his neck. She then peered over the counter to see Hassan cowering in the corner. “You can get up now.”

With her gun now in her left hand, she quickly unlocked the store front door with her right, then opened it for the awaiting police. “Come on in, Officers. Someone better call an ambulance.”

A young policeman gazed at her, then at Flemmi. “What the hell happened in here?”

“Self defense, Officer—I mean, he was shooting at us,” she said articulately, trying to impress her point.

He blinked, then realized his duty. “Miss, I’ll have to ask you to put down your weapon.”

Lines of disdain wrinkled her brow. “Excuse me?”

“For God’s sake, Jenson, what the hell are you doing!?” a burly man bellowed as he entered the store. “That’s Agent Night of the B.I.T.A.”

“I’m sorry, Miss,” he said.

“Captain,” Kathrin smiled.

“Agent Night, thanks for—well, whatever happened here.” He shook her hand, then quickly gazed down to her feet and back. “Nice nightgown.”

“Thanks, Bill.” She turned and started to head back towards her coat.

“Hey,” he called after her. “I’ll need you to come down later and help us out with the report.”

“No problem. But right now, I’m just gonna go get my milk,” she winked.

***

Kathrin was just about to sip her reheated tea when the phone rang.

“Damn—I’m never going to get to drink this!” She picked up the handset with a quick jerk. “Hello.”

“Kathrin, I’m glad you’re there,” came the man’s lyrically Italian response.

“Dante—” she apprehensively responded.

“I need you to come in.”

Kathrin’s head sagged backwards in resignation. “I just got in at three a.m.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

She pulled out the leather chair and sat down. “What is it?”

“A bomb threat at a construction site in Maine was realized.”

“That’s—” she blinked. “Wouldn’t this be more appropriate for the FBI to handle?”

A heavy sigh came over the line. “Well, this is asked of us by one of the directors. I guess a friend of a friend of his owns the site. He wants the motives behind our investigation to remain confidential. Even to the rest of the Bureau.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

“Because I know I can trust you.”

Faint lines around her eyes and lips creased into a smile. “You know correctly. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Thanks, Kathrin. I’ll schedule the meeting.”

“Okay. Ciao.” She dropped the phone gingerly into the receiver, then yawned. “Guess I’ll have to wait on my vacation—and my tea.”

After taking a pillow case from the linen closet, she shoved her laundry into the sack. “So much for running errands,” she grumbled, walking into the other room to shower.

She emerged from the bedroom with her hair slicked back, dark and wet. Her pale blue jeans were comfortably loose and flattered her slender figure. The logo on her Boston Celtics tee shirt was barely legible from years of wear. Kathrin gathered up the pillow case, her keys, wallet, then left the apartment, clicking the door shut behind her. Just outside, she swung a section of the door trim aside to press a series of buttons. The sound of the deadbolts locking in place came subtly through into the hallway, confirming that her security system was now engaged.

* * *

Kathrin half-smiled at the guard who rushed to open the door to her workplace: the United Nations building. She cradled some papers and her laundry in both arms as she passed through. Once at the elevator, she firmly pressed its button with her right thumb, the only finger she had free. She tapped her right foot in anticipation and the sound of her leather-soled loafer echoed in the foyer. The metal door finally slid open and she stepped inside. An older man hurried to join her. Kathrin held up her hand and smiled.

“Sorry, private trip.” She pressed the ‘close door’ button again and the man blinked vacantly as the rubber bumpers met before him. Kathrin placed the pillow case on the floor and slid aside a small metal plate in the control panel. She inserted a key and pressed the ‘B’ button.

When the elevator doors opened, she withdrew her key and stepped out into a striking lobby, decorated minimalistically with contemporary furniture and graphics. Her first stop was Sally Hobbes’s desk.

“Agent Night, I didn’t realize you were back already,” the redheaded administrator greeted.

“Just got in late yesterday. In fact, I didn’t expect to be back in here so soon either.”

Miss Hobbes smiled and looked down at the lumpy cotton bag Kathrin was holding. “Running away from home?”

“No, Sally, running away from housework,” she smiled. “Could you have this sent out to be laundered for me please?”

“Sure.”

“You’re the best, Sally,” she said, walking towards a steel door.

Kathrin placed her palm against the etched glass panel beside the door. A light was activated by the warmth of her hand and it transversed vertically downward. She watched, as she did every time, as her fingers glowed red from the light’s intensity. Upon completion, the steel door whooshed aside to reveal a long, artificially-lit hallway. Kathrin passed through the threshold and walked along on the slate blue linoleum. The modern characteristics of the lobby were not a part of the heart of the Bureau’s headquarters. The walls had been painted a warm white in an attempt to offset the coolness of the underground offices. More like a bomb shelter than a nucleus, the Bureau of International Trauma Analysts stretched out beneath all three of the United Nations buildings.

Kathrin looked left, then right, through each doorway repetitively with the same turning motion of a tennis spectator. After passing six rooms, Kathrin followed the sharp right turn of the corridor.

After the second corner, a row of seven offices, equidistantly spaced, laid ahead to the right. Each door was ajar, and Kathrin peeked in them as she passed, not breaking her stride. All of the offices were identical: a desk in the center of the room, a bookcase to its side, a guest chair, and a map of the world decorating the rear. The furniture was of standard United States government issue, mostly from the 1970s or earlier. It was not tattered, but it was the gray-green that had once accessorized many a civil servant’s office.

The tunneling hallways rose to seven foot ceilings throughout the complex with the exception of Andrew Cunningham’s lab. Kathrin worked her way past a few other closed doors to reach it, then entered. Sunlight burst past her into the hall, casting a sharp, Kathrin-shaped shadow onto the floor. The sun triumphantly cascaded down onto tables crowded with test tubes, microscopes, beakers, and greenery. Agent Night squinted and turned her head away to give her eyes time to adjust to the severe change in lighting.

She gazed up apprehensively.

I know they keep telling me it’s fail-safe, but every time I come in here I just can’t help wondering if this glass ceiling can continue to support the garden above. I don’t know how Andrew can work in here.

Toshiro was a superb mathematician, but suppose he misjudged how long it would take for the structure to weaken? Granted, he did calculate perfectly how and where to push the mulching aside to allow sunlight to pass through the two way mirrors beneath the plants, but—her worries faded into a chuckle. And that sign—thousands of tourists read that darn sign each year:

An example of new gardening technology from the Japanese is put to use here at the United Nations Peace Garden. Mirrors beneath the soil direct the heat of the sun back up to the roots for more vigorous growth.

If they only knew, she thought.

Kathrin moved to the left of the room. She approached a mirror on the wall and pushed the light switch beside it. The mirror slid aside and Kathrin stepped into the secret workshop it revealed.

“Jack?” she called.

No response came.

Maybe he’s buried into something and can’t hear me.

Automobile sections were stacked in the right hand corner, with engines not far away. During a quick scan of the clutter, a few mannequins stood out against the wall, their heads missing. Kathrin stepped carefully forward and listened. No rustling or other activity could be heard. She kept expecting to see the top of his balding head pop up from behind a pile of parts.

Ooh—he could be hiding in here, just waiting to startle me—as usual. He so enjoys doing that to me. If it weren’t for that boyish smile, I’d swear he was truly demented.

When he didn’t appear, she turned. Honoring Jack’s right to privacy, she left his gadget shop intact.

She stood in the greenhouse, and gazed at Andrew’s orchids. The handsome botanist was still absent.

Where in the world is everyone?

A determined march carried her back towards the offices. As an afterthought, she stopped, backed up, and entered a doorway to her right.

The immediate coolness and cleanness of the computer room air was apparent to Kathrin: especially to her nose. The computer room’s freshness, specific degree of moisture, and even perhaps its faint smell were unmistakable to her. The steady lull of the massive mainframes hummed in the room. Kathrin sat, rolled the chair in closer to the terminal, then logged on.

“Good morning, Agent Night,” the unit responded in pale blue letters.

“Good morning, OMNI,” Kathrin said as she typed in her menu selections.

She tapped on the keyboard constantly, pausing only to watch the requested information scroll onto the screen.

“What’s new and unusual today? Any clues on our incident in Maine?”

Kathrin requested all acts of sabotage for the past thirty days. OMNI reported a number of incidents, but none of which sparked her interest. As a last resort, she inquired about terrorism. The screen filled instantly with relevant data. Upon reading the most recent entry, Kathrin solemnly gritted her teeth.

“My God, what has this world come to.” She shook her head and pressed enter to get more data on the incident.